For the first time since this man had taken me, I was able to sit in the front seat. The man stared out the front window. His balding hair, greasy and brown mixed with silver. His brown eyes were cold and stone. His short, fat fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning his hands white. He wore his old clothes. A old tee-shirt and jeans. Hiking boots and a cap. In the cup holder, a handgun lay unused. For now.
"I'm sorry, my beautiful boy." His eyes flicked to mine. "You just changed. That's all."
A car passed us, the street busy.
"And that is why I must do this." His hand ran through my hair. "But the next one will be better. I'll see to that."
A muffled cry from the back of the van. The man had taken the new 'me' on a spur of the moment situation. The perfect one. Which means he didn't need me. That gun was for me as well. The sunlight from outside was bright, too bright for me to even look out. I just looked down. Not much left for me to do. I had been with him for years. Far too long.
A honk of a horn.
That was the only sign that something was wrong. It happened too fast to count for everything. The car hit us (or we them). Both cars were sent down the embankment, the other car flipped over. It landed in a creek. Our car hit a tree. The engine pushed through the dashboard. Everywhere hurt. Shards of glass littered all around. Lights buzzed. My head floated. From my spot, I could see The man. He pushed himself out of the car, running. He ran and ran. I could only watch his figure get smaller and smaller. The smell of smoke and exhaust filled my nose. It hurt so much.
"Help! It hurts!" The boy from the back had gotten his gag off.
I couldn't keep my eyes open after that.
Lights flashed behind my closed eyelids. Voice buzzed in and out. The engine of the car pressed up into my chest, caused so much pain. My arm numb. Scratches littered my skin burnt. I could hear the engine ticking. My eyes tried to open but everything was fuzzy. Things were coming in and out. Breathes were hard to heave out. In was much easier but it still hurt. Finally, I could make out talking. They, at first, were talking where I couldn't hear but then they were close enough.
A hand placed itself on my neck. "This one is alive as well!"
There were more people around now. One person pulled my eyelids open, tears blocked everything. The person gently lifts my head, placing a mask on my mouth. Another person placed a vest around my neck, the person carefully laying my head back against the seat. My eyelids felt too heavy to keep open. One of the men patted my check, lightly. My eyes flew open just long enough to see two men prying the car apart. Then I fell back asleep.
"...oken arm. And years of scarring from his captor."
"So, he is also a victim. Do you have any idea if we can talk to him soon?" A male's voice, soft spoken, asked.
"As soon as he wakes up, but don't expect him to react to any questions. Usually, children like him develop Stockholm syndrome."
"We understand." A feminine voice rang out, kind-of high.
Finally, I was able to open my eyes. White was the first thing I could identify. A white light, a white room, white sheets. Pain flared up my chest, burning it, as I tried to breathe normally. A strange beeping rapidly echoed in my ears. My brain was not present at the moment, I felt like I was afloat. It was scary. Nothing was like what I was used to. My dark walls, the ever present shadows that loomed over me as I lay on a thin sheet on the floor. The disgusting filth of place. The darkness of the room, I craved for that little time I got in the sun. There is silence everywhere. The dark presence of the man as he was always there. He was always there!
"Hey, it's okay. Calm down." A man was suddenly above me. I will not go through that again! "4 milligrams of Midazolam. STAT!"
An arm entered my field of vision. I bit at them. The woman screamed. There was so much sounds! I don't remembering gaining energy to kick and scream at everyone. Hands were on me again. Ghost hands of him followed the same path, shivering at them. Forcefully, my arms and legs, along with my head, were held against the bed like the straps on The Man's bed. An elderly woman carefully places the tip of something sharp to my skin on the bend of the elbow.
"Wait!" The male voice from before, the soft one, yelled. "Just wait."
For a moment, there was nothing. Nobody moved, their hands still firmly pressing on my skin. Then, they released me, slowly. The last touch left my head and I jumped up. My back pressed against the boards as close as I could crawl away from them. Wires were sticking in my skin, I ripped them out. Four men and one woman surrounded my bed. Too close. Off to the side, stood a man and woman. The woman was blonde haired and skinny. But I could tell she was strong. The man was lanky, short brown hair.
"Hey," He whispered. "I'm Spencer Reid. What's your name?"
The medical personnel slowly backed away. The rapid beeping started to slow to a hum. I ripped out the last of the wires that had still clung to my skin, like a tick. The guy... Spencer... calmly walked to the bed, sitting down at the edge. His hands folded in his lap. A gun hung on his waist.
"I'm with the FBI. Do you know what that is?"
I nodded.
"That's good. Can I ask a few questions?" A few people filled out, leaving the doctor and the FBI agents. "Do you remember the man who kidnapped you?"
"Reid, he might..." She trailed off. "Honey, do you know the man?"
"You frame it the same way as I did!"
"No, I didn't. That is just a lie."
"Agents..." A head popped into the room. "Michael just woke up."
"JJ, go. I'll stay here." Spencer offered to the woman he was with. I could see the man watch him. "Is the light too much?"
I watched him walk to the door, his arm reached for a switched. The lights dimmed and my eyes stopped hurting as much. The white light, blinding to look at, became a soft blackness. The doctor left. A sigh echoed before I could stop it. Spencer then sat down on the floor as far away as possible. I let my feet hit the floor, it was cold. My body hid in the corner, where there was no light. Except there was still light. The cast on my arm didn't help in anything.
The blanket that was askew on the bed hung there. I snatched it, draping it on my head. This was the prefect amount of light for me. Darkness felt nice. Familiar. The sounds of the outside world were strange; the beeping of the machines, the static of the the intercom, the heavy footsteps down the halls. The soft breathing of the man who was still there in the room with me.
"Statistically, there are 1% with heterochromia. There are around 7,497,311,000, which means you are one of the 42 million people in the world that have heterochromia iridum. That's around 6 in every 1000 people have heterochromia." The man started to lecture. " The amount of melanin in the iris determines whether we have blue eyes, green eyes, hazel eyes, or brown eyes. Blue eyes have the least amount of melanin in the iris; brown eyes have the most..."
I was running. The ground hard and cold. I don't know why I was running, just that I was going. There was barking in the distance. No... the sound of cows. Their screams as fire burnt. But that isn't the sound I was hearing, clucking. A chicken cocked it's head at me, standing on the rocks in front of me. The chicken was white. Pure and innocent. Black spots spreading on it's skin. The tips of the tail drenched in it. A red mask and Mohawk were the only difference in the chicken. The bird ran away.
Following the bird, I ran. My skin burnt and stung from the tree limbs and roots as they slashed at me. The bird was still running away. I wanted to catch him, to hold the soft feathers. To feel his safety. Then, there blocking my way was the number eight, laying on it's side. Beside that stood the letters T, V, and H. The constant reminder that he will always be there. The hatred for letting him hear me as I begged him not to. The smell. The burnt smell. Cows were marked for a reason, to protect the cattle from hustlers and thieves. To protect his property.
"Can I see him? Can I see the boy that my son is becoming?!" A sobbing woman's voice shrilled the air with screams.
"Ma'am, listen. Ma'am, you have to understand that the boy isn't in the right state of mind. He has to deal with the events." This voice was new, deeper but not husky deep. Like His.
She screamed, "My son has been missing for two years. Two whole Fucking years! I deserve to know if my child will be alive still. Or someone I don't even know."
"Ma'am-"
"And I am not the only person to think this way. These two also have missing boys. Do they also not get a voice?!"
"Calm down, Mrs. Riley."
"No! I will not calm down. I want my son!"
My heart pounded as the conversation continued. The screams reminded me of the pigs I heard. I had to cover my ears to drown them out. I often did that when I had long hours of animals yelling at me. The outside calmed down and the crowd slowly made their way away from the room. Then the silence I welcomed settled in the tense air.
"Kid?" The presence of the man scooted closer. "I will not let anyone in here, trust me. You are safe here."